An Apology
by Rita Screecher
Summary: An event some years after Harry and Co. graduate. The first two paragraphs were borrowed from "queen of slytherin" here: http://www.fictionalley.org/fictionalleypark/forums/showthread.php?s=&postid=207855#post207855


An Apology  
  
He leaned against the wall of the dark city alley as he drew in the heady flavor of his clove cigarette. Anyone--Muggle or magical--who passed by at that moment would have taken a second look, because his imposing yet insolent aura was hard to miss. Anyone would know that this was a man who had been there and done that, and this was a man who had seen and known more than what was fitting for his age. It was written in his eyes--the strange mixture of pain, pessimism, numbness, and indifference of a broken man.  
  
He puffed out little perfect circles of smoke, and he watched them swirl in the polluted air. Then a soft female voice called out in surprise, "Harry, is that you?" Harry turned to look at the sound of his name.  
  
"Hermione," he said, a ghost of a smile beginning to form on his face. "You haven't changed a bit."  
  
"I can't say that I'd say the same for you," she replied, striving to make her tone light. "How are you?"  
  
"Pretty good," he managed to say after fumbling a bit. He smiled at her, although his eyes didn't change. "What have you been up to?"  
  
"Oh, you know…" she said vaguely, gesturing with her hand. "Ministry things…quite dull, really." There was a slight pause. Harry opened his mouth, but the words didn't seem to be able to come out. Hermione waited. He cleared his throat. Then –  
  
"And how's Ron?" A look of intense pain formed in Harry's eyes for a split second, but it was gone, quickly melted into the air like the smoke rings he blew out from his tight lips.  
  
"Living," Hermione responded, with a touch of irony. "He almost died, you know, from that skirmish with Draco Malfoy a few years back."  
  
"Yes, he's an Auror, isn't he." It was more of a statement than a question. "I would've never guessed…good ol' Ron, an Auror…" A dry laugh. Hermione had a momentary flash of annoyance, but she stilled it. Another awkward pause. The silence grew until it was almost deafening. A lone car passed by, splashing muddy water onto the pavement. The wedge between them was too deep, Hermione realized. Time just made the wound deeper. She looked at Harry, who was staring at the brick wall behind her. His cigarette had gone out a while ago.  
  
"Well –" Hermione winced slightly at how loud her voice sounded in the silence. "I suppose I'll see you around." She managed a smile at Harry. His emerald gaze met her chocolate eyes, and he nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he echoed. "I'll see you around." His gaze dropped to the dirty pavement. He crushed the cigarette butt beneath his foot. Hermione turned to leave, her heart nearly breaking. The memory of the bright-eyed boy, just starting Hogwarts, and this sad, broken man in front of her just didn't seem to be the same person. It was a foolish idea to stop and talk to him, she chastised herself. It was a foolish wish, hoping that maybe she could see a little glimpse of the innocent Harry she so fondly remembered from hazy years ago. She raised a hand to brush away the tears that had jumped to her eyes. A hand shot out to grasp her wrist. She looked up into Harry's face, startled, blinking away the tears.  
  
"Hermione," Harry said, his voice taking on a note of urgency. "Can you – can you tell Ron – that I'm sorry?" They stared into each other's eyes until Harry finally glanced away.  
  
"Never mind," he said, his eyes and voice hardening. "It's not like you owe me anything." He took his hand away from her wrist and shoved it deep into his coat pocket. He pivoted sharply away from her, and strode away. Hermione's heart shattered. He had gotten the wrong impression.  
  
"Wait," she called out. He didn't stop. She stood there, unable to do anything, watching his hunched figure disappear into the fog. Hermione whispered into the air, "He knows, Harry." The figure was now out of sight, enveloped completely by the fog. She pulled her coat closer around her, more for comfort than for warmth. Turning, she slowly strode away in the opposite direction Harry had disappeared. Soon the alley was as empty and silent as before. The only thing that remained was the butt of Harry's cigarette, which lay, flattened and cold, on the bleak, muddy pavement. 


End file.
